


While The Band Played On

by FierceWeeBadger



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FierceWeeBadger/pseuds/FierceWeeBadger
Summary: The Prohibition Era is a dangerous time. Claire Randall, dancer at a jazz club, is determined to escape the clutches of Black Jack, head of the most ruthless mob of bootleggers in New York. Has she found an ally in James Fraser, Federal Agent?
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 69
Kudos: 272





	While The Band Played On

**Author's Note:**

> This is my one shot for the Moodboard Challenge. Thanks again for organising, @IamNotTrisha and @Outlanderlush!
> 
> The gorgeous and highly inspiring moodboard is by @yogini_koo! I just hope I have done it justice. 
> 
> And thanks also to my betas Danielle, Saba, Britt & Katie. (Yes, I need four, don't judge me!) If this story is any good at all, it's because of you. 
> 
> This is the first piece of writing I have ever shared publicly, so I hope you enjoy it. *runs & hides*

The strains of a saxophone floated through the cool night air to where I waited in the rainswept alley behind the club. Waited for a man I wasn’t sure would come. 

He was late. 

Maybe he hadn’t found the note slipped discreetly in his pocket. Perhaps he thought the whole thing was a trap to be avoided. The death toll in the War on Booze was ever mounting, and Black Jack and his gang played the game more viciously than most; a Federal Agent couldn’t afford to be careless in times like these, or he’d soon find himself on the wrong end of a Tommy gun. 

I lit another cigarette, foot tapping nervously on the wet pavement. While I normally eschewed smoking, it was a convenient excuse for my presence here, should I be missed. It was also a handy way to mark the passage of time; if he didn’t arrive by the time I finished this one, I would have to go back inside and think up another plan. 

But one way or another, I was determined to escape. 

My bruises were almost gone now — the last remnants of the black eye covered with an extra thick layer of foundation — and I swore they would be my last at the hands of Jonathan Randall. That monster might own my body, but my soul was still mine; a bit battered perhaps, hidden away deep down where no one could see, but whole for all that. And never accepting of the gilded cage in which I was currently trapped. 

* * *

_10 days earlier_

_“That smart mouth is going to get you killed one of these days, my dear.”_

Those words were the last thing I could recall upon waking in the hospital bed, feeling the starched white linen of the sheets, uncomfortable against my skin. 

I hadn’t even seen the first blow coming; had been insensible for those which followed. 

_For every cloud, a silver lining._

Laying there in the quiet, dawn light peeking through the cracks in the blinds, I wondered how I had gotten here. It must have been one of the other girls, I decided upon reflection; Jack would never have sought out medical help, unwanted attention from the establishment being high on his list of things to avoid. 

A soft rap on the door snapped me back to the present. 

“Come in,” I managed to croak out, my throat raw and painful — the ghost of his hand around my neck lingering still. 

I had expected a nurse or a doctor — or even an orderly bringing around some terrible hospital food — but the man who entered was clearly none of those things. He was tall, handsome, clad in a well-tailored suit, and held himself with a confident bearing. His hair was a distinctive shade of auburn and his eyes shockingly blue when they met mine, making me forget to breathe for a moment. 

When he spoke, it was yet another surprise; his warm Scottish brogue wrapped around me like a blanket on a cold day. 

“Morning, Mrs. Randall,” he greeted me with a slight nod of the head. “My name is James Fraser and I’m an agent with the Prohibition Bureau. Sorry for bothering ye sae early. How are ye feeling this morning, lass?”

His eyes and tone seemed to hold a genuine kindness and concern, but I didn’t trust so easily as I used to. I had learned the importance of caution and compartmentalisation over the last three years — a hard and painful lesson, that — and my slip of the previous evening was obviously still fresh in my mind. 

“And what possible interest could the Prohibition Bureau have in me, sir?” I replied, doing my best to compose my face into something resembling a brick wall. “I’m just a woman who slipped and fell down the stairs.”

I had thought that might get a rise out of him, but he maintained his composure. He obviously didn’t think the situation humorous in the slightest. 

“Yer name is Randall, ma’am. And ye canna live long with a name like that unless ye’re a canny bird. How might ye be related to Jonathan Randall, may I ask?”

I averted my gaze, trying to keep my voice steady and neutral. “He was my late husband’s cousin. Frank died in a car accident several years ago.”

“Ah. I see. I’m sorry for yer loss, Mrs. Randall.”

A faint _“_ yes, well, me too” was all I could manage in reply. I turned my head away, pretending to look out the window, though the blinds were still drawn. 

_Damn you, Frank,_ I thought, wiping an angry tear from my eye. _This is all your bloody fault!_

I hadn’t heard him approach the bed, so I was startled when a large hand enveloped mine, offering a quick squeeze of reassurance that sent shivers down my spine. It was the first time in a very long time that I had been touched by a man with kindness — not with cruelty or desire — and the realisation shook me to the core.

“Ye dinna have to be scairt of him, Claire. Let me help ye.”

Before I could even contemplate a response, the door suddenly opened and Jamie jerked his hand away as if scalded. A nurse bustled in, clipboard and blood-pressure cuff in her hands. 

“Oh, so sorry to interrupt, but I need to do a few checks on Mrs Randall now. If you wouldn’t mind waiting outside for a few minutes, sir.”

“Aye, I’ll be back in a bit,” he said with a nod, quietly closing the door behind him.

My mind was racing. This could be it, my chance to get out from under Black Jack’s control. Had I finally found an ally who would help me? Someone who wasn’t as terrified of the boss and his goons as everyone else in New York seemed to be? 

There was only one way to find out. It was risky but, looking down at the bruises that covered my arms, I found I suddenly didn’t care anymore. 

I was going to get out or die trying. 

But as I still strongly preferred the option of _not_ dying, I needed to be smart about this. Jack would have someone watching the hospital. I had to get the agent out of my room as quickly as possible or they’d suspect I told him something. I needed to arrange a meeting of my own choosing; one when I wouldn’t be watched. 

“Do you have anything to write with, by any chance?” I turned to ask the nurse, the outline of a plan quickly forming in my mind.

“Of course, ma’am,” she said, handing me a piece of blank paper off the chart and a yellow pencil with teeth marks on it. As she went about her work, I scrawled a short note. 

> _The alley behind Dragoon’s_
> 
> _10 days from now_
> 
> _1130pm sharp_
> 
> _Come alone_
> 
> _Please_

I quickly folded the paper into a tiny square, tucking it under a fold of my hospital gown. 

* * *

The sound of steps on wet pavement jolted me back to the present, cigarette still burning in my hand. When I looked up, there he was — collar of his coat turned up against the wind, hands in his pockets, eyes alert and scanning for any sign of danger. 

He sidled up next to me and leaned against the wall, extracting his own cigarette case and lighter with a show of nonchalance. 

“Evening, lass,” he greeted me, as if this was nothing more than a chance encounter, not a cloak-and-dagger meeting of dire consequence. “Ye’re looking verra well. Especially compared to the last time I laid eyes on ye.”

“I’m feeling much better, thank you. And yourself, Mr. Fraser? How’s business going these days?” I asked pointedly. 

“Weel, as to that, I suppose I’ll know more soon, aye?” 

This was the moment I’d been waiting for, the moment three years in the making. It was now or never.

“Tuesday night. It’s the new moon. There’s a shipment coming across the border. Here,” I said, passing him the slip of paper with the map I’d drawn earlier. “I have to go now before I’m missed. Don’t let me down, James.” 

I stubbed out my cigarette and walked away. I don’t think he intended for me to hear his reply, but I did.

“Wouldna dream of it, Sassenach.”

* * *

We continued like that for four months — quick meetings in alleys, brush passes in the park or bookshop, messages left hidden in agreed locations. 

That first bust had gone perfectly, with several of Jack’s most prized goons killed in the resulting shootout. Seeing his apoplectic rage that night, I could hardly contain my glee — and he noticed. 

“The fuck are you smiling about, kitten?” He fixed me with a malevolent glare that sent ice water running through my veins. 

“Just thinking about the new lipstick I bought this afternoon,” I replied, swiftly averting my gaze and twirling the strand of my pearl necklace around my fingers. I hoped my voice didn’t betray me as I delivered the flippant remark. To Jack, all women were stupid and frivolous — worthy of nothing save contempt — and I prayed that he would remain true to form now. 

“Well, get out of my sight before I belt some sense into you,” he barked, turning back to the papers on his desk. 

I had to force myself to walk calmly to the door when every cell in my body screamed for me to run, making my way down the hall to my room as if nothing were amiss. But once the door closed behind me, my courage finally failed; I slid down to the floor, sitting with shaking arms wrapped around my knees, as I tried to remember how to breathe again. 

I guarded my face more closely after that, and avoided being alone with Jack whenever possible. 

* * *

My meetings with Jamie — _Mr. Fraser_ no longer — though always infrequent and fraught with risk, became the bright sparks in the dark labyrinth of my life. 

As our successes mounted, he began to share personal details with me, allowing me to see bits of the _soul_ beneath the stoic mask he usually wore. On one occasion, he went so far as to tell me about his family; the Frasers had moved from Scotland in search of a better life, only for his father to be murdered by the mob when he refused to pay protection money. It was why Jamie had joined the Bureau; he wasn’t some staunch teetotaller, it was his hatred of the gangsters — a thirst for vengeance — that drove him. The next time we met, I brought along a pilfered flask of Jack’s finest whisky, which Jamie accepted with a laugh and a “thank ye, Sassenach” that warmed me even more than the sips we shared. 

But though a mutual trust had begun to form between us, I rarely reciprocated his candour — quickly turning the conversation back to him whenever it strayed too close to my own personal territory. Jamie was my partner in a game of life and death, but the walls I had built to protect myself were not ones easily dismantled. 

Then one evening he was late. 

We had decided to chance meeting in one of the Bureau’s safehouses, a tiny apartment on the fourth floor of a rather run-down building. (The excitement I’d initially felt at the thought of a more private meeting place was something I refused to let myself even acknowledge, let alone analyse.)

But as the minutes ticked by with still no sign of him, my mind began to play a motion picture reel of worst case scenarios. _Jamie riddled with bullet wounds, unseeing blue eyes staring up at the heavens. Jamie face down in the river, his auburn curls floating around his head like a halo. Jamie tied to a chair, blood running down his face as he was mercilessly beaten for information...such as who the informer was inside Jack’s operation._

I hadn’t realised I was pacing until I heard a creak from the landing outside, which sent me hurtling towards the door and flinging it open to reveal a rather disheveled — but definitely still breathing — James Fraser. 

“Oh, thank God,” I gasped, reaching out a hand to grip his forearm and draw him across the threshold. “What the hell happened to you?”

As I stepped back to look him over — split lip, grazed knuckles, shirt missing several buttons, hair mussed as if he’d just rolled out of bed — he had the audacity to _smirk_ at me.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. You should see the other guy.” At my blank look, he plopped himself down on the couch with a sigh of relief. “Some young buck thought it’d be a good idea to demand my watch and wallet, despite the fact that I had 6 inches and 50 pounds on him. A rather poor judge of character, I’m afraid. He willna be makin’ that mistake again in a hurry.”

Palpable relief flooded through me as I fetched some clean water and towels from the kitchen, my heartbeat attempting to return to a normal rhythm. 

When I returned to the sitting room, I settled myself lightly on the coffee table directly in front of Jamie — my legs fitting snugly between his spread ones — leaning forward to dab his bleeding lip with the towel. He made a move to stop me but I swatted his hand away. 

“Let me help,” I chided. “It’s the least I can do.”

He said nothing in reply, just stared at me with the eyes of a cat, expression unreadable. When our gazes locked, the space between our bodies felt suddenly charged, like the air before the first clap of thunder rends the stillness. 

“Why are ye doin’ this, lass?” 

“Because you’re bleeding, you silly man,” I replied with a laugh, taking his hand in mine to run the cloth across the raw skin of his knuckles. But as the silence stretched on, my mind finally deciphered what he had _really_ been asking. 

“Oh… you mean… Why am I helping the police? Why am I trying to take down Jack?”

“Aye. After all, he’s family, is he no’?“

“That monster is no family of mine,” I snapped angrily, bolting to my feet. “You know _damn well_ he put me in hospital the day we first met. You know what he’s capable of, Jamie; surely you’ve seen the trail of destruction and pain that man leaves in his wake. The murders. The mutilations. The ra—“

I couldn’t say it; couldn’t get the word past my lips. 

I felt the panic rising in my chest, the desire to run as far and as fast as my legs would carry me. The impulse must’ve shown on my face, for the next thing I knew a pair of strong arms enveloped me and held me tight. Calming words were whispered in my ear, words in a language I didn’t speak, but whose meaning was abundantly clear. 

_You are safe now. You are not alone. You can trust me._

And suddenly it all came spilling out of me in a rush of words and tears. 

_Frank’s gambling problem._

_The crash that killed him, driving drunk on his cousin’s bootleg liquor._

_The massive debts to Jack’s bookies which then fell to me._

_My body the collateral called in for repayment, just another commodity to be bought and sold while the band played on._

Jamie listened in silence as I spoke, my voice muffled against his neck. He continued to hold me close, rubbing my back in broad reassuring circles. The wave of grief that had overwhelmed me slowly ebbed away, tears gradually receding into the depths of a vast ocean.

But they were not replaced by calm waters, rather a building storm that would make any sailor worth his salt hasten to a safe port. Slowly, I pulled away from Jamie and took a few steps back — regretting the loss of his touch, but needing to look him in the eye, to know without a doubt that I was understood. 

“I don’t want or need your pity, Jamie. What I need is your help to get free of him. I have been through hell. I have lost a husband. I have lost my home, my family, everyone I have ever cared about or who cared for me. I have been beaten, terrorised… raped. _And I have fucking survived!_ You ask why I’m doing this. Well _that_ is why! Because I am a survivor, and I refuse to let that man — _any_ man — break me!”

We stood in silence then. I felt an intimate connection in the touch of his eyes, though our bodies were no longer in contact. When he finally spoke, his tone was like velvet wrapped around pure steel.

“I’ll kill the man for what he’s done to ye. I swear it, Claire.”

And I knew it was the truth. 

* * *

Everything changed from that night, becoming both much simpler and much more complicated.

Our work was easier now that I trusted Jamie implicitly. I felt free to share my mind with him — my thoughts, my hopes, my fears. We even shared jokes and laughs, and I reveled in his irreverent sense of humour which mirrored my own. The exhaustion of being on guard every waking minute dropped away when I was with Jamie, and I almost felt like my old self again in those moments. 

But as our connection grew deeper — from conspirators to friends to an inkling of... _perhaps_ more — it also became much harder to put our emotions aside for the sake of the task we needed to accomplish. 

Jamie struggled to hide how much it grated on him whenever we parted, knowing as he did that I was going back to Jack and to the danger of his whims. And as for myself… the unavoidable touch of other men every evening at the club was more nauseating than ever before; Jamie’s hands were the only ones I longed for on my skin, his lips the only ones kissing my neck, his voice the only one whispering in my ear. No matter how scalding the shower, I struggled to feel clean again. 

Then one sunny afternoon in Central Park, at the secluded bench I’d begun to think of as “ours”, the silent turmoil finally bubbled to the surface. The shawl I had draped around my shoulders slipped and Jamie saw the secret I’d been trying to hide from him — purple bruises covered my upper arms, the shape of fingers stark and unmistakable against my ivory skin. 

His eyes narrowed in anger and his fists clenched until his knuckles were white. When he opened his mouth, only a single word came out in a low growl. 

“Who?”

I said nothing in reply, but he saw the answer on my face. 

“Enough, Sassenach. We have to get ye out _now._ We canna wait any longer to catch Jack with the smokin’ gun. He’s too crafty by half, never gettin’ his hands properly dirty, always wrigglin’ away like the slippery eel he is. I refuse to send ye back to him again, to keep puttin’ ye in danger day after day. And for what?!”

Again, I kept my silence. Waiting… for what, I didn’t know.

“Come… come away wi’ me, lass. Ye dinna have to do this any longer. Ye can be free again.”

Tears stung my eyes as I took in his words, as I considered the lifeline Jamie offered me which I so desperately wanted to grasp. But it couldn’t be. There could be no freedom for me while Jack continued to breathe free air. He would hunt me to the ends of the earth if need be. 

And we both knew it. 

The kiss we shared then was tender, tentative, cautious, and too short — but the passion behind it was palpable, a longing kept tightly in check only because of where we were and what remained to be done. 

I cried myself to sleep that night, something I had stopped doing long ago.

* * *

A few evenings later, I was backstage removing my makeup when one of the goons walked in. “Boss wants to see you,” he grunted in my direction.

“What for?” I asked, the nervousness in my voice not quite hidden.

“I dunno, do I?” he shot back at me with a glare. “Just get your pretty ass up and moving if ya know what’s good for ya.”

 _Damn it._ I was due to meet Jamie in half an hour at a disused warehouse a few blocks away. The thought had been the only thing buoying my spirits during another long evening of entertaining drunks and lechers. If it was nothing too serious, I might still be able to make it. I knew he’d wait for me as long as he could.

I climbed the stairs up to Jack’s office, my heart doing its best to escape the confines of my chest. He didn’t often send for me these days — his interest had long since moved on to newer girls — but when he did, it was never a good thing. 

He was sitting at his desk when I entered, settling the phone in its cradle with a click. I waited in silence. Jack was of the opinion that women should only speak when spoken to, and my fear prevented me from forming a coherent thought in any case.

When he finally looked up, his predatory eyes boring into me, my panic intensified and my breath came short.

 _He knew._

Jack rose from his chair slowly, walking around the desk, eyes never leaving my own as I stood frozen to the spot. When he reached me, he leaned in close to my face, so close I could feel his breath against my skin. 

“Someone’s been a very naughty girl,” he hissed. It was all I could manage not to flinch, but I was determined not to show fear. Fear was what this monster fed upon; it intoxicated and aroused him, as I knew only too well. 

“Would you like to tell me what you’ve been up to, Claire? Or shall I guess?”

No words of mine could make the situation either better or worse now. I kept my silence. 

Jack circled around to stand behind me, and I shivered slightly at the touch of his hand as it gripped the back of my neck. His fingers tightened slowly as he spoke.

“Go ahead and scream for help, my dear. No one will hear you. No one will help you. And I’ll enjoy this so much more.”

He used the hand on my neck to push me towards the desk. I knew exactly what he had in mind; he would make me suffer and beg before he finally killed me and dumped me in the Hudson River, the watery grave awaiting all his enemies. 

In that moment, I should have been terrified… but, strangely, I wasn’t, really. A sudden clarity came over me, like the calm in the eye of the hurricane. One way or another it would be over soon — no more lies, no more fear, no more hiding my soul under a blade of grass. If it was death that awaited me, my only regret was Jamie, and what we might have had if things had been different; I knew he would blame himself, but I hoped he would find happiness eventually. 

If that was the outcome, I’d accept it. But damned if I was going to meet death without a fight. 

I let Jack lead me to the desk and bend me over it, face down. The smell of his ashtray and the ink from his fountain pen filled my nostrils, the mundanity of it anchoring me to the present moment. As he struggled to ruck up my dress, distracted by the impediment of my undergarments, I slowly reached across the desk to open the drawer which I knew contained his pistol. 

Feeling the cold metal under my fingers, I steeled myself for action — taking a deep breath which could very well be my last — and whipped around like a snake, striking him across the temple so hard that my arm went momentarily numb. He staggered backwards and I pointed the gun straight at his heart, hands steady despite the adrenaline running through my veins like an electric current. 

I didn’t necessarily expect to see fear in his eyes; I honestly wasn’t sure this monster was _capable_ of feeling such a human emotion as fear. 

But what I _certainly_ didn’t expect was the look of wry amusement which lit his face, nor the chilling laugh which burst from his chest, one hand pressed to his bleeding head. 

“You really are the unluckiest bitch in the world, aren’t you, Claire?” he barked, walking slowly towards me. 

“Stop right there! I’ll shoot you down, I swear to God!” I shouted, backing away as he continued to advance.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, my dear. You’re braver than any other woman I’ve had the displeasure of meeting,” he crooned, a humorous glint in his eye as he looked me up and down. “But it’s hard to shoot anyone without bullets.”

The empty _click_ as I pulled the trigger was the sound of my heart breaking. 

He was on me before I could move, backhanding me across the face hard enough to send me sprawling across the carpet. I tried to crawl away from him, desperately gasping for breath, but then his hand was in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. I knew it was over when I felt the touch of the knife-point against my neck. 

_Goodbye, Jamie_ , was the last thought that crossed my mind as I closed my eyes for the final time. 

“I’ll thank ye to take your hands off the lady.”

At the sound of that voice — the one I had never expected to hear again — my heart leapt and my eyes shot open. There he was, standing in the doorway, a pistol pointed at Jack’s head. 

“Well if it isn’t the knight in shining armour himself,” Jack mocked. “It appears we’re to have an audience, kitten. How would you like to watch while I carve up this beautiful ivory skin? It’s such a shame but,” he sighed heavily, “tragedies happen.” 

He moved the point of the knife from my neck along the hem of my dress to the low point between my breasts. He slowly increased the pressure, eliciting a sharp gasp from me as he pierced the skin, a trickle of crimson blood dripping from the wound. 

We all stood frozen for a moment, three combatants locked in a strange dance, unsure who would make the first move. My eyes met Jamie’s briefly and it was as if I could read his thoughts. _Get away from him_ , he was silently begging me. _Get away so that I can take him._

And with that I stomped as hard as I could on the top of Jack’s foot, for the first time in my life thanking whatever sadist had invented high heels. 

Jamie didn’t hesitate, pouncing with the reflexes of a cat. He dropped his gun as he leapt, needing both hands to struggle for control of the knife. Damn the man and his honour; he couldn’t just shoot the bastard in cold blood, he had to try and arrest him!

I leapt for the pistol where it lay on the floor, but knew it would be useless for the moment. There was too much risk of hitting Jamie by accident as the men rolled across the floor, a mass of fury and tangled limbs. 

Suddenly the air was pierced by a visceral scream and the two bodies stilled. 

_Please, God,_ I thought with a desperation beyond anything I’d yet experienced. _Please let him be safe. He’s the only thing I have left, the only thing I want in this world. Please —_

And then he moved and my heart started beating again. 

Jamie slowly got to his feet, looking down dispassionately at the body of Black Jack Randall, knife jutting out from between his ribs, a pool of blood slowly spreading across the floor. 

“I didna mean to kill the man. But I canna pretend I’m sorry he’s dead.” He spoke to himself, or perhaps to God — an acknowledgement that while regret might be required for absolution, he didn’t feel the former or seek the latter. 

He turned to me then, crossing the floor in two steps to envelop me in the sanctuary of his arms, burying his face in my hair and planting a gentle kiss on the top of my head. The relief swept over me and I broke down, tears flowing freely into the crook of his neck. 

“It’s alright, Sassenach, I’ve got ye,” he whispered. “Dinna weep, _mo ghraidh_. Shhhh shhhh, no one will harm ye now.”

At his words, the reality of our situation came back to me like a bolt of lightning. We weren’t out of danger yet; one of Jack’s goons could find us at any moment and we’d never make it out of the club alive. 

“Let’s go, Jamie. The back stairs. Quickly.” I grabbed his hand firmly in mine and we ran like hell. 

Out of the club. 

Out of New York. 

Out of this life I was determined to leave behind me forever. 

* * *

_4 months later - Nova Scotia, Canada_

I was pulling weeds in the garden when Jamie came in from the fields. We’d been in our new home only a few weeks now, but it already felt like a lifetime since the events of that night. 

I supposed that wasn’t surprising considering all that had happened in the past few months. 

A frantic escape from New York, driving all night long in Jamie’s Model A, not stopping until we had crossed the border into Canada. 

A hasty wedding in Niagara Falls. Not necessarily our preference, but the only option if we didn’t want to wait weeks for a marriage license… which, of course, we didn’t. 

Our first night as man and wife, when the world beyond the confines of that hotel room simply ceased to exist. Jamie was slow with me, gentle, taking the time to pay court to my body, making sure I felt safe and ready, knowing I was still healing. I knew he worried that his touch conjured the demons of my past, that I felt the ghost of other men’s touch on my skin, but I didn’t. His hands on me were like no one else’s had ever been, their effect on me like nothing I’d felt before in this life — I was safe and whole in his grasp, and gave in to the pleasure with an eagerness that surprised us both. 

Finally, our arrival in Nova Scotia; the decision to make a life together here made on a whim, but it just felt right somehow. We bought a modest home and a plot of land with Jamie’s savings. I felt terrible that I had nothing to contribute to our new life, but I had left my old one behind with only the clothes on my back, and considered myself lucky for all that. 

And now here we were, the two newest blueberry farmers in “New Scotland”. 

As Jamie wrapped his arms around me from behind, hands resting on my growing belly, I let out a sigh of perfect contentment. 

“And how’s our fierce wee berry doing this afternoon, _mo chridhe_? Is he givin’ ye any trouble?” he whispered in my ear, voice full of love for the tiny life we had created together. 

“Not at all,” I replied, reaching down to entwine my fingers with his. “ _She_ is being perfectly well behaved.”

He chuckled at that, bending his head to nuzzle the skin just behind my ear. 

“Weel, she certainly doesn’t take after her mam then, Sassenach. Ye’ve been naught but trouble since the first day we met.”

I turned to face him, matching smiles lighting up both our faces.

“Oh Jamie, you do break my heart with loving you,” I replied, hand reaching up to stroke his stubbled cheek.

His arms wrapped around my waist then; hands resting gently at the small of my back. 

“Dance wi’ me, my own,” he whispered. 

And we moved together then as one, to the silent music that only we could hear. 


End file.
